


Serve and Sustain

by bigblueboxat221b



Series: Sleep and Rest and Peace [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Beards (Facial Hair), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Intimacy, M/M, Post-Season/Series 04 Finale, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 14:03:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9388292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigblueboxat221b/pseuds/bigblueboxat221b
Summary: The continuation of Greg and Mycroft's developing relationship. Greg's patient and kind, Mycroft is uncertain but determined to make a change.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this series came pouring out of me after I saw the end of The Final Problem, and it just keeps expanding. The chapters are getting longer as the story becomes more complex, too, though hopefully that's a bonus! Thanks for reading, I hope you're enjoying this post series 4 Mystrade relationship exploration.

The morning progressed slowly, Mycroft following Greg’s lead. It was a relief, after so long of making decisions, impossible decisions without the time or information to consider the ramifications of either choice.

Greg guided him into the kitchen, where Mycroft sat at the bench, wrapped in his dressing gown, watching Greg cook. Greg was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, his feet bare. His hair was tousled, possibly after a shower, Mycroft thought vaguely. He made a cheese omelette, toast, and tea, his easy movements soothing to watch. Greg set the small kitchen table with placemats and proper cutlery, Mycroft pointing to the cupboards for him to collect various things.

After Greg sat him down, and Mycroft managed to eat some of the meal, he sat forward, leaning on the table for support. He still felt tired, but it was more than a physical fatigue. His bones ached, and he was very aware of how slow his thought processes had become. Nothing felt like it could motivate him to make an effort to move more quickly or concentrate in order to improve his brain function, however. Greg seemed quite happy to coddle him, speaking quietly when needed but otherwise letting Mycroft just be.

Mycroft felt like a small child whose nanny was making all the decisions, and his mind was quite happy to be taken over. He was still processing the conversations he and Greg had shared in the last day or so. His mind was reeling, the cold, logical part fighting to contain the emotions that, now they had sensed freedom, were straining to be released. He knew in which direction he wanted to move, but the idea of such a journey was at the very least daunting, though terrifying was probably closer. An idea had presented itself, the tentative thought to reach out to Greg, but those same emotions were overwhelming in their response. Perhaps, with the right set of circumstances…

“Would you like to have a shower?” Greg asked, and Mycroft drew his attention back to the kitchen. The table had been cleared, and Greg was standing by the bench, looking at him. He had an air of unhurried calm about him, and it comforted Mycroft.

He nodded without speaking and stood, trusting that Greg would have a plan to make it happen.

“What about a shave?” Greg asked, pushing off the bench and coming over to Mycroft. He rubbed the fingers of one hand lightly down the rough cheek, drawing a sigh of contentment from Mycroft. Greg allowed his palm to cup Mycroft’s jaw, thumb rubbing over his cheek.

“Very ginger,” he murmured, and the ghost of a smile crossed Mycroft’s face.

“Always?” Greg asked, and Mycroft nodded.

“Everywhere?” Greg teased, the rapid flush across Mycroft’s face confirming it. Greg chuckled, then leaned in, pressing his lips gently to Mycroft’s. They stood like that for a minute, enjoying the closeness, before Greg moved back slightly, speaking almost against Mycroft’s lips.

“Let’s start with the shave, shall we?”

Mycroft, eyes having drifted closed in response to the kiss, nodded once again. Speaking seemed such an effort, and Greg wasn’t fussed if he was mostly mute at the moment. It made the moments more intimate, somehow, that speech wasn’t necessary. For a man who spent so much of his life framing careful words, the silence was a blessing.

Greg found Mycroft’s hand and took it in his own. “Which way to your bathroom?” Greg asked.

Mycroft lead the way, and they moved up two flights of stairs, footfalls all but silent on the heavy carpet. Mycroft opened the only door on the top floor, into an expansive bedroom-cum-sitting-room. The bed was a disaster, sheets tangled and twisted, the duvet half across the floor, pillows stacked haphazardly.

Greg noticed, but did not comment, instead pointing to the three doors leading off the bedroom. He raised his eyebrows and Mycroft pointed. The bathroom was another large space, but closing the door made it seem cozy, the subdued light from the grey day outside lending a muted look to the stone and white space.

Mycroft opened a cupboard, and Greg took over, seating Mycroft on the bench seat in the shower as he rummaged through the shelves. Finally he emerged, bearing towels of various sizes, shaving foam, a razor, and after shave balm. Greg smiled at Mycroft, who attempted to return the gesture, the smile not reaching his still exhausted eyes. Greg busied himself with the sink, filling a basin he found with hot water. He soaked a small towel and directed Mycroft to lean back, the hot towel enveloping his face, preparing his skin for the harsh touch of the razor.

Mycroft closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth and ease and trust of the situation. None of these things were familiar to Mycroft, yet he was appreciating them all. Greg was gently changing his world, showing him new perspectives, and despite the exhaustion of his mind, so far it was better than he had dreamed.

Greg’s fingers removed the towel, caressing his face before applying the shaving foam across the ginger whiskers of Mycroft’s almost-beard. “Ready?” Greg asked, and Mycroft nodded once.

The scrape of the razor was almost shocking, and Mycroft elected to open his eyes. He watched Greg work with sure, subtle motions, working carefully around the unfamiliar contours of his face, rinsing the razor in between takes, examining the tricky spaces behind his jaw to ensure he hadn’t left any hairs behind.

Finally, he wiped the last traces of shaving foam from Mycroft’s face, finishing with the citrusy scented after shave balm. Greg’s fingertips moved carefully over Mycroft’s face, smoothing the balm into each area before moving on to the next. Mycroft’s eyes drifted closed again, and he didn’t start when he felt Greg’s warm breath on his skin.

Mycroft turned his face into the source, his smooth cheek sliding against Greg’s lips.

Greg mouthed along the now smooth cheekbone, trailing fire across Mycroft’s sensitive skin. Greg’s mouth hovered over Mycroft’s, hesitating until Mycroft rose to meet it, lips fusing together. They moved together carefully, Mycroft timid, Greg mindful of Mycroft’s delicate state. The fire from earlier was muted, now a comforting heat between them as they learned each other’s taste and flow. Endless moment stretched into each other, the rotation of the Earth less monumental than this exposition of their bond. Finally, Greg gently broke their connection, his thumb once again running over that smooth cheek.

“Done,” he said quietly, stepping back to look at his work. His eyes were warm and liquid as they met Mycroft’s.

Mycroft cleared his throat, heart still pounding as he replied, “Thank you,” and ran one hand over his jaw, a reflexive motion to examine the difference. A more significant difference than usual, given the days since his last shave.

“Would you like a shower, or I could run you a bath,” Greg offered, eyeing the enormous tub in the corner. It looked well used, and he suspected Mycroft was a soaking-in-the-bath person at heart.

“A bath would be delightful, thank you Gregory,” Mycroft replied quietly.

Greg grinned at him. “I picked you for a bath person, that’s a heck of a tub,” He said, moving over to open the taps.

Mycroft cleared his throat, and Greg turned.

“By the bath is a control panel,” Mycroft instructed, his ears turning red as he explained, “Press 1-enter and it will fill to my preferred depth and temperature automatically.”

Greg’s eyebrows shot up as he processed this, and after pressing the buttons and watching the plug descend and the taps run themselves, he chuckled. “Very fancy,” he said. “I like it.”

Mycroft shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with the attention his bathroom was garnering.

Greg took the hint, hunting through the cupboard again until he found several huge bath sheets, a bathmat, and a robe, which he set out for Mycroft. “I’ll grab my book and wait downstairs,” he said, turning to leave.

A pale hand, fingers hesitant, settled on his forearm. Greg stopped, surprised. He turned to Mycroft, who spoke a single word.

“Stay?” the taller man asked tentatively.

Greg blinked, looked at the bubble bath, now full and waiting, then looked at Mycroft, the expression in the ginger man’s eyes difficult to read.

“Okay,” Greg said. He hesitated, then pulled at Mycroft’s dressing gown cord.

Mycroft stood still as Greg slid it from his shoulders, draping it over the towel rail. Mycroft’s heart, still beating hard from the exquisite kiss of earlier, accelerated again as Greg’s fingers started on the buttons of his pyjamas. As each slid out of its buttonhole, Mycroft’s breath hitched, the sound mingling with Greg’s own caught breath.

Greg marvelled at the determination of the man in front of him. He had been a lost soul when Greg found him, and even this morning, his compliance had been reminiscent of a small child too tired to offer objection. Now, though, he seemed resolute, clearly set on changing the way he dealt with the world, despite his uncertainties. Greg expected him to object, but each button slid free without complaint. The pale skin revealed at each juncture was delicious, he thought, wanting to bend his head and kiss and taste it.

When the last button skipped free, Greg ran his hands up along Mycroft’s torso, hip to shoulder, eliciting a shudder and gasp. He slid the pyjama jacket free, adding it to the dressing gown, and stared for a moment. The pale red fuzz across his chest was testament to his true ginger nature, and Greg’s fingers tingled at the idea of threading through and tugging. He wondered what kind of noise Mycroft would…but no, he had to be patient.

“You’re gorgeous,” Greg murmured, planting a delicate kiss on Mycroft’s collarbone. He breathed on the spot at his thumbs hooked into Mycroft’s pyjama bottoms, skimming them down until they pooled around his ankles.

Mycroft’s breath was coming much faster now, and Greg, despite his own desires, reigned himself in. Rushing this would benefit nobody, least of all Mycroft. He kissed the same spot again, then leaned back and smiled at Mycroft, an intimate, knowing smile. With a caress along Mycroft’s arm, Greg said, “I’ll just go and make us another cuppa while you get yourself sorted, okay?”

He slipped out, the tea more an excuse to give Mycroft a few moments of privacy than anything else. He descended to the kitchen, made their tea, and trekked back up to the en suite, knocking perfunctorily as he entered. Mycroft was entirely submerged in the bubbles, save his head.

“You look like you’re floating,” Greg commented, putting the tea down on the ledge by the bath.

Mycroft had clearly submerged himself, his face wet and hair slicked back against his head. He smiled at Greg, a more complete smile than Greg had seen since he arrived.

“Feels good to be clean, hey?” Greg asked, sitting on the bench by the bath.

Mycroft smiled again, and spoke. “A cleansing in more ways than one,” he told Greg. In response to the raise eyebrow from Greg, he expanded, holding Greg’s gaze. “I trust you, Gregory,” he said quietly. “Precious few people have ever earned my trust, even my brother wavers in his loyalty, but you,” he shook his head, “you have been my light in this darkness. I need to change, this…unpleasantness…with Eurus has made it evident that I cannot continue in the same manner and expect a different outcome. You were right yesterday. I do experience emotions, of course, but they had never been an aspect of myself I had ever relied upon since the decision was made to incarcerate Eurus.” He blinked his eyes hard and drank from his mug, throat dry after speaking more than he had in days.

Greg sat in silence, intuition telling him that Mycroft had more to say.

“I need your help, Gregory,” Mycroft admitted, his gaze dropping as one hand played idly with the bubbles across the surface of the bath. “This is not a situation with which I have…any experience.” The tips of his ears were red, a clear sign to Greg that there was more to that statement than Mycroft had words to express. He thought for a moment, then hazarded a guess.

“When you say ‘this’, do you mean ‘you and me’, or do you mean ‘the new and improved Mycroft’?” Greg asked.

Mycroft cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Both,” he admitted. “In the interests of full disclosure, I am not a virgin, however my experiences have been limited to the physical. Romantic entanglements are completely foreign to me.”

Mycroft was still looking at the bubbles, one hand trailing vaguely through them, leaving a path as he moved. His hand was trembling, Greg noticed, and he wondered how such a well of emotions could have been contained for so many years.

Mycroft was gifting him something precious, offering his heart, and Greg was not naïve enough to think it would be a gift free of complications, but he could not refuse. Mycroft had been a part of his life for longer than he knew, and Greg valued him beyond his understanding.

Without thinking, Greg stood.

Mycroft’s head snapped up, and Greg saw some of the same, unidentified emotion as when he’d asked Greg to stay. It was fear, he saw, fear and a lack of control and alarm at his own folly.

Greg stared at Mycroft for a moment, before realising he must have though Greg was going to leave. Greg smiled a reassuring smile, before he pulled his t shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor. Mycroft’s eyes were still on him, but they were wide now with astonishment rather than fear. Greg paused, feeling Mycroft’s gaze trail down across the dark hair on his chest, noting the fading tattoos across one shoulder, and down to where his hands were resting on his belt buckle. Greg unsnapped his belt and paused for a beat, enjoying the hitch of breath Mycroft let out at the action. Slowly, he released the button, then ran the zipper down, the metallic sound loud in the silence of the bathroom. The zipper reached it’s end, and Greg hooked his thumbs into his waistband, dropping his jeans and kicking them off in one smooth motion. He hesitated for a moment before climbing into the bath, pants still on, offering companionship without expectations.

Mycroft shifted, the extra volume of Greg’s body sloshing water over the side of the tub. They settled, Greg relaxing comfortably behind Mycroft, arms encircling him as he drifted in the warm water. He knew he would stay as long as Mycroft needed him, because he needed Mycroft, too. Mycroft’s strength had exceeded his understanding, and he yearned to know this new man, to help him, to serve and sustain him through the darkness and into the light.


End file.
